


Too Much Contained

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Massage, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Neal’s taken by an old enemy, finding him is Peter’s first goal and taking care of him is the second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much Contained

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Whumpapalooza](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/48185.html) at [](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/profile)[**whitecollarhc**](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/) and also for "kidnapping" for the Wild Card square on my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) card. Thank you to [](http://jane-eyre.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://jane-eyre.livejournal.com/)**jane_eyre** for the quick beta.

When Peter unlocked Neal's anklet for the last time, he didn't think he'd ever wish that the tracker was still in place. Removing that anklet had meant freedom for Neal, the right to move freely and live his life as he chose. It also meant freedom for Peter, the freedom for he and El to open their bed and their home and their hearts to Neal. Neal had been a part of their lives for years, but since he'd slipped in deeper Peter felt like his life, which had been so very good before, had become even better, and he knew from the easy smiles on El's face that she felt the same.

They had all woken together that morning, El curled up against Peter's hip, her head pillowed on his chest, and Neal on Peter's other side, sprawled out on his belly with one leg snug against Peter and one arm reaching for El. Peter had stayed still and watched them both sleep in the dim light of morning, and he'd known how lucky he was. Still, he'd managed to forget how quickly it could all be taken away.

~~~

With his briefcase and coffee in hand, Peter kissed Neal and El goodbye before leaving for the office. Neal was working as an independent consultant, with the FBI being only one of his clients, so days when Neal rode in to work with Peter were rare. More often, Neal and El traveled together since Neal worked out of a small office inside the suite leased by Burke Premier Events when he wasn't on site with one of his clients or roaming the city doing whatever he defined as research. They each had their separate professional lives, and yet Neal's intersected with both his and El's, and the balance felt right.

Neal had most of his day scheduled with his own clients, but Peter needed him to take a look at some bonds the team was investigating, so Neal had agreed to come in toward the end of the day, just in time to look over the evidence and then ride home with Peter. Shortly after noon, Peter’s phone buzzed with a text message.

_I stopped by the farmer’s market in Union Square and picked up some of your favorite apples._

Peter turned away from the rest of the office, well-aware of the stupid, sappy smile on his face. The thought of Neal, impeccably dressed and busy as he always was, walking around with a bag of apples tucked into his briefcase, was enough to get him through the rest of the afternoon of tedious meetings without losing his good mood. He was expecting to see Neal in the office between 4:30 and 5pm, but he got caught up in an endless phone meeting with an agent in the west coast White Collar division office, and it wasn’t until nearly 5:30 that he realized Neal was late.

Logic said that it was nothing, that Neal was in a cab stuck in traffic or that his meeting had run over, that his phone’s battery had died or that he couldn’t get a signal. Nonetheless, Peter’s throat felt tight as he listened to Neal’s phone ring over to voicemail. He left a message then sent a text, making sure not to sound anything other than mildly concerned, then called El.

"Hey, hon. Have you heard from Neal?"

"He texted me at lunchtime to let me know he’d picked up a jar of jam at the farmer’s market. You know, that amazing blackberry jam from upstate?"

Peter forced himself to keep his voice even. "Nothing since then? Has he been by his office there?"

"Well, no, but I wasn’t expecting him." El sounded tense now, like she wasn’t sure if she should be concerned or amused. "Wait, shouldn’t he be with you by now?"

Peter looked down into the bullpen, hoping again to see Neal walking through the doors. "Yeah," he said reluctantly. "He’s not answering his phone, and he should’ve been here at least 45 minutes ago."

"And you have a bad feeling about it."

It wasn’t a question, but Peter nodded silently into his phone. "Where are you now?"

"On my way home. You know, maybe he just went home and fell asleep or something. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well."

"Maybe. Listen, I’m going to have an agent meet you at the house, just in case. Let me know if he calls or texts or anything?"

"Of course." El’s voice was painfully gentle, and Peter closed his eyes. "You know honey, if he _is_ missing, you’ll find him. You always find him."

Peter sighed, letting El’s confidence buoy him up. "I do, don’t I? I’ll let you know when I have any news."

They exchanged _love you_ s, and Peter gave himself a moment to push aside his feelings before leaving his office and jogging down the stairs. Within minutes, he had one of the junior agents on his way to Brooklyn to meet Elizabeth and Diana on her way to Neal’s office to check for any notes about where he might have been planning to go for his afternoon meeting. Clinton was checking for activity on Neal’s bank account and credit cards, though Peter knew that legally it was much too soon to declare Neal a missing person. So far, they had no evidence of foul play, and Neal was a grown man; he wasn’t obligated to be instantly available at any given time.

But Neal also had an untold number of enemies from both his life as a criminal and his time with the Bureau, and Peter wasn’t above using Bureau resources to make sure Neal was safe or to locate him if something from his past had come back to bite him. Peter called Mozzie and June himself, but neither of them had heard from Neal that afternoon. Peter knew that both of them would happily lie to him if Neal had asked them to, but he was absolutely unwilling to entertain the idea that Neal had dropped off the radar to do something he wouldn’t want Peter to know about. Those days were over.

Mozzie promised to call if he heard anything, and Jones reported in with what he’d found. The last activity on Neal’s card had been a purchase at a Starbucks near Union Square at 1:15pm, so Peter took a small team up there to investigate. The farmer’s market was over, the vendors all gone, and the staff at Starbucks had turned over since the afternoon shift, but Peter convinced the manager to let him review the security tapes without a warrant.

On the monitor, Peter watched Neal sit at a table talking to a man who managed to keep his face away from the cameras at all times. The information Peter could glean from the tape was maddeningly useless—dark-haired man, light to medium skin tone, medium build, medium height, age anywhere from 20 to 50. Neal looked just as he had in the morning, and when he left with the mystery man Peter noticed that the soft-sided leather briefcase resting against his hip was bulkier than usual, full of apples and jam and probably some kind of unusual vegetable he was planning to trick Peter into loving. Peter swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and made a copy of the video to take back to HQ for further analysis.

He didn’t have enough evidence to bring ERT or any other departments into his unofficial investigation but he cased the neighborhood himself until he had to give in and head back to the office. Somebody ordered pizza, and Peter forced himself to eat a couple of slices while his mind spun, trying to figure out what to do next. He kept trying Neal’s phone, but it was no longer even ringing, just rolling straight to voicemail. Hating himself for it, Peter scanned through police reports from around the tri-state area, looking for anything that would have fit Neal’s MO, but he found nothing that was even a remote possibility.

Peter was staring into his cup of coffee, trying to figure out what avenue of investigation he could try next, when he heard somebody saying his name. He looked up to see Hughes, incongruously dressed in khaki pants and a long-sleeved polo shirt, standing in front of his desk. "Sir?"

"Peter, go home."

"I can’t. And I thought you were out of the office today?"

"I was, but I heard about the situation here. Now look, it’s after midnight. Go home, see your wife, get some rest. You know there’s not much that can be done this time of night, not without any leads, but I’m going to stay here with a few agents and put out some more feelers. You and your team need to be fresh to get back on this tomorrow morning."

Peter shook his head. "My team can go home, but I’m _not_ giving up on Neal."

"I’m not betting against Caffrey either, but you’re not going to be any good if you’re falling asleep at your desk. You shouldn’t be on this case at all, as you well know, but I’m not going to take you off of it as long as you go home. Now. I have an agent ready to drive you home in your car."

"Reese," Peter said, hating how much the name sounded like a plea. "I _need_ to get Neal back safe."

"I know that." Hughes patted Peter on the arm then reached out and snatched the files from under Peter’s nose. "Now get out of here before I have to take this whole investigation out of your hands."

Peter glared at Hughes, but the man’s steady gaze didn’t waver, and Peter knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. "Fine. I’ll be back at six if nothing turns up before then. You’ll call me—"

"Of course."

Peter sighed and grabbed his bag before trudging to the elevator to go find his ride home. Minutes later, as the quiet young agent in the driver’s seat navigated through the city, Peter found himself looking down every dark alley imagining Neal hurt, alone. His chest ached at the thought, and when he finally got home and held Elizabeth in his arms he let his burning eyes leak a few tears into her hair.

When he could pull himself back together, he let her go but she took his hand and they sat on the couch together. Peter could see his own exhaustion mirrored in El’s face, but he didn’t want to go to bed where they’d have to curl up in the empty space that should have been filled by Neal. Peter leaned against the back of the sofa and wrapped his arm around El, pulling her closer as Satchmo hunkered down at their feet. He closed his eyes and imagined Neal coming home, letting himself into the house to find them waiting for him. He imagined his anger and his relief, and when he woke in the dim light of early morning all he could feel was dread and the urgent need to find Neal.

~~~

El insisted on coming in to the office with Peter, and he didn’t bother arguing with her. In his office, she kicked off her shoes and sat in one of the visitor’s chairs with her feet tucked up underneath her. Peter looked for any new information that might have come in overnight, but there was nothing. Nothing. Peter made phone calls and tried not to let his mind go in directions that wouldn’t do them any good. The terrible thought of Neal being dead, just a body somewhere for them to find or not find, kept slipping into his mind but each time he’d look up at Elizabeth and let the hope in her eyes help him push back against the worst case scenario.

When his cell rang, Peter fumbled for it, startled enough to almost reject the call when he was trying to answer it.

"Suit," Mozzie said. "Have you ever heard of Jason Collier?"

Peter paused, thinking. "The name sounds familiar, but I don’t think he was ever one of my cases."

"He was an old colleague of Neal’s, an ex-colleague I should say. As much as it pains me to side with The Man, Collier’s scum. He started off transporting goods and then moved on to larger and more _evil_ pastures."

"Drugs? Human trafficking? Weapons?"

"Yes. And Neal got him arrested, so you might say they’re not friends anymore."

"No, I would know if Neal had worked on a case involving this guy."

"Not a _case_. This was years ago, before you had Neal caged like an animal."

"But—"

"Neal called in an anonymous tip, dropped a dime. Actually, he gave them so much information it was more like a $50 bill. Does that surprise you, Suit? That even the criminal element can have standards?"

As much as Neal had spent the better part of his twenties flouting the law in a dramatic and remunerative fashion and the rest of his twenties paying for that, Peter knew he never would’ve wanted anything to do hurting people. Still, he hadn’t expected that Neal would’ve stuck his neck out that far without any kind of deal on the line. He felt oddly proud of the man Neal had been even then, and then a wave of pain and dread washed that pride away.

"I suppose that’s a yes. Anyway, Collier’s out, and the word on the street is that he’s looking for somebody to dispose of a ‘package.’ No word on Neal, but—"

"I’m on it. Let me know if you hear anything else."

"Likewise," Mozzie answered crisply before disconnecting the call.

"Hon?"

Peter looked up to see El with her shoes on her, feet on the floor, her eyes wide open. "We have a lead." He crossed the room and hugged her, hope and hopelessness battling inside him at the thought of what kind of condition Collier’s "package" might be in. He squeezed her tight and then pulled away. "Okay. Stay here? Please?"

Elizabeth nodded and Peter took off out of his office, running down the stairs and calling for Clinton and Diana. "James Collier! Convicted of some kind of trafficking probably around ten years ago. I need to know everything about him, especially what he’s been up to lately."

In a matter of minutes, Peter had the known history of Collier’s career as a criminal in his hands. The man had been arrested by federal agents for drug trafficking and human trafficking, with suspected ties to arms dealers, and just the broad strokes of what Collier had been responsible for made Peter feel ill. The arrest and subsequent conviction had been made possible by a very _informative_ anonymous informant, and Collier had been released from prison in California three months ago. Within the last month, he had leased a warehouse in Queens, and he also owned family property on Long Island.

"The warehouse," Peter said, narrowing in on the location on the map. "That’s got to be it. Let’s gear up and go!"

With lights and sirens blaring, Peter and the rest of the team raced uptown and across the bridge to Queens, bullying their way through morning traffic. Luckily, the majority of the traffic was headed in the opposite direction so they made good time, and with his heart pounding so hard he was nearly dizzy, Peter watched as agents forced open the locked warehouse door and cleared the interior before turning on the bright, buzzing overhead lights. Lights which revealed a wide-open warehouse with nothing more interesting than some cracks in the old concrete floor.

"Nothing," Diana said. "Damn. We headed out to the Long Island property next?"

Peter didn’t answer, just turned in a slow circle looking around the space. He’d had such a strong feeling that Neal would be there, but the place was empty. _Wait_ , Peter thought, stopping to stare at the discarded-looking wooden crate sitting near the far wall. _Not quite empty._ He took off running across the warehouse to put his hands on the crate. It was small but solid, and when Peter tried to shift it on the floor it was clearly not empty.

"NEAL!" Peter knelt down and put his eye to a crack in the side of the crate. He couldn’t make out anything clearly but then he heard a very quiet, "Peter," and stood up shouting. "I need a crowbar over here!"

"Neal, thank god. I’m going to have you out in a minute." He kept his hands tight on the crate until Jones came running with two crowbars in hand. Peter took one and they went to work prying up opposite sides of the crate’s lid. Before Peter could clearly see Neal he heard Neal cry out in pain, and his stomach twisted until Neal was in front of him whole, alive, ducking his head down and squeezing his eyes shut against the bright overhead lights.

Peter pulled off his FBI-issued baseball cap and put it on Neal’s head, the brim pulled down low. He leaned in further and put his hands on Neal’s shoulder’s, ignoring the sharp odors of urine and sweat that filled his nose.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, trying to find the answer for himself. Neal was stripped down to his undershirt on top, but his pants looked undisturbed. Peter could see bruises and a few shallow scrapes, but nothing there was bleeding. His elbows and wrists were secured tightly behind his back, and his feet and knees had the same treatment, bound in front of him. The crate afforded him no room to move, his knees pushed up to his chest even with his socked feet pushing against the side of the crate. Peter desperately wanted to see Neal’s face, but he didn’t want to cause him any more pain.

"Neal?" Peter rubbed his hands lightly over Neal’s shoulders. "Can you talk to me?"

"Just get me out," he whispered. "Please? Get me out?"

Peter looked up at Jones where he stood on the other side of the crate. "Help me?"

Jones nodded and bent down over the crate. It was awkward, and Peter didn’t know if his back would forgive him, but they lifted Neal up smoothly and moved him a few feet away to lean sideways against a concrete pillar. Jones went to work cutting the bindings on Neal’s legs while Peter knelt behind Neal, taking some of Neal’s weight while he worked on the combination of thick ropes and duct tape on Neal’s hands and arms.

Neal was trembling, his breathing harsh and uneven, and Peter just wanted to hold onto him, but it wasn’t time for that yet.

"Boss?" Peter looked up from his work to see Diana holding out a bottle of water and a bundle of gym clothes, probably requisitioned from some probie.

"Thank you." Peter felt almost overwhelmed with gratitude—for Neal being there with him again, for the loyalty and kindness of his team.

Jones finished freeing Neal’s legs and stood. "I’ll keep everybody clear until you’re ready to get him out of here. You want me to send in the EMTs?"

Peter looked at Neal and knew he needed quiet and calm more than medical attention. "Not right now. I’ll let you know."

Jones nodded and left, and Peter went back to freeing Neal’s hands. They were warm at least, but of course Neal would know how to keep his circulation going with whatever small movements were possible for him. "It’s just you and me here," Peter said, struggling to release Neal from the layers of tape and rope without cutting the bare skin of his arms. Neal just nodded, but Peter was grateful that he was alert and responsive enough for even that. Finally, he cut through the last of the tape, and Neal curled forward around his hands as the muscles in his shoulders and back visibly spasmed beneath the thin cotton of his undershirt.

Neal’s breathing was rough and uneven, and Peter felt helpless as he rubbed his hands lightly over Neal’s back and shoulders. "You need to tell me if you’re hurt, beyond the obvious." He ghosted his fingers over a scrape on Neal’s forehead. "Did you hit your head? Did he hit you?"

"No," Neal answered, his voice the shredded, worn-out voice of a man who’d spent too much time calling for help that didn’t come soon enough. He reached up to touch the scrape and only succeeded in knocking the hat off his head. "I scraped it on the box when I woke up there. He chloroformed me."

"James Collier?"

Neal nodded, and Peter ran a hand through the sweaty mess of Neal’s hair. "We’re going to get him. Now, if you’re ready to move a little I have some clothes you can change into. Or if you’re hurt worse than you’re telling me, we have EMTs outside. Or we can just sit here until you’re ready."

"I’m not going to the hospital," Neal insisted in his quiet, raspy voice.

"It would be a good idea to get you checked out."

Neal shook his head. "The EMTs out there, okay. But no hospital, I just want to get out of here. Get out of—" Neal gestured at his dirty, stinking clothes and blushed, looking away.

"Not a problem. Will you let me help you?"

Neal crossed his arms in front of him and tried to pull off his shirt, but his arms were still too stiff and clumsy and he gave up with a frustrated sigh. "Please? I’m sorry."

Peter moved around to crouch in front of Neal then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Neal’s forehead, lingering there for a moment before gently kissing his lips. "I love you. And this isn’t your fault so don’t you dare apologize."

Peter stretched Neal’s shirt to pull the back of it up and over Neal’s head and then worked it off of his arms. He undid Neal’s belt and opened his fly then helped him lift up enough to pull off his slightly damp pants and briefs. Peter cringed at the thought of Neal’s bare skin on the cold, dirty concrete, but he just pulled on the thick navy blue sweatpants and gray sweatshirt as swiftly as he could. "I’m sorry I don’t have any shoes for you."

Neal’s gaze slid to the crate and he shuddered. "I just want to get out of here."

"Okay, let’s go." Peter stood slowly, pulling Neal to his feet and watching for any reaction that would indicate a more serious injury. Neal just grimaced at the stretch of stiff muscles but he was able to stand with Peter’s arm tight around him. They walked out together, keeping to Neal’s limping pace, and Peter was glad to see that most of the agents who’d been outside had withdrawn. Clinton and Diana stood near the car talking to one of the EMTs while the other stood by the back of the ambulance.

Peter nodded to his agents as he guided Neal over to sit in the back of the ambulance. While the EMT was doing a neuro check on Neal and questioning him about other injuries, another car pulled up, and El climbed out of the back. Her face lit up when she saw them, and she ran over.

"Oh my god, Neal!" The EMT was blocking her path to Neal, but she nudged her way in and gently wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, sweetie."

"I'm okay," Neal said, and as El pulled away she bit her lip as the raw, worn sound of his voice worried her more rather than reassured her.

The EMT moved back in with a roll of gauze and supplies to clean the abrasions on Neal's wrists and arms, and Peter drew El over to stand with him. "Hey, hon." He curved his arm around her back, and she leaned into his side.

"What happened?"

Peter sighed. "He was in a crate, tied up. I think he's mostly okay, but he's going to be sore for a while. And he's—"

"Yeah. But we'll take care of him. Can he come home?"

"He won't agree to anything else."

"God, I don't blame him." He looked down to see her frowning, and he tugged her closer as they both thought about Keller.

The EMT took a step back from Neal and glanced over at Peter and El. "Mr. Caffrey, I have to recommend that you let us take you to the emergency room. You could have internal injuries or fractures that we can't detect in the field, and you'd feel better with some fluids in you."

"No." Neal shook his head decisively.

"He's coming home with us, and we'll keep an eye on him and bring him in if he starts to feel worse. We'll get him hydrated at home."

"It's my job to recommend that he goes in."

"I understand, but it's his decision and he says no."

The EMT shrugged as Neal looked up at Peter with a grateful half-smile, and when the EMT produced a clipboard with a form to sign Neal managed to hold the pen well enough to scrawl something in the signature box.

Peter turned to look as two agents walked around from the back of the warehouse to talk to Clinton and Diana. "Hon, I'll be right back." El nodded and reached out to put her hand on Neal's shoulder as Peter walked over to see what the other agents had found.

"Peter," Diana called out holding up a bulky object encased in a large plastic evidence bag, "this is Neal's right?"

As he walked closer, he could see that it was Neal's briefcase. "Right. Where was it?"

"In the dumpster around the back with a jacket and some other clothes that I think are his, too."

"Get them to ERT." Peter touched the bag through the plastic and felt the shape of the objects inside--—the curve of apples, the cylindrical shape of a jar of jam, a springy mound that was probably some kind of fresh greens. He breathed through his nose to stave off the burning in his eyes then looked up at Diana and Clinton. "I have to take him home, and I need you to get this guy. I'd love to be the guy to take him down, but I need to be at home."

"Go," Clinton said, his voice solid and steady. "We'll bring Neal's things out to you once they're processed through evidence."

"We'll get Collier, don't worry." The glint in Diana's eyes promised that Collier would be taken down swiftly and mercilessly.

"Thank you." Peter turned and walked back to the ambulance, where Neal was sitting with his head on Elizabeth's shoulder, pain clear in the pale, tense lines of his face. He put a hand on each of them but spoke directly to Neal. "You ready to go home?"

Neal nodded, and Peter moved in to wrap his arm around Neal's back to help him stand. He all but carried Neal to the car, El helping to support Neal from the other side, and after El climbed into the back seat Peter helped Neal fold his stiff body into the seat beside her. Behind the wheel, Peter started the car and then sat in silence for a moment, calming himself for the ride home. He knew he should probably make Neal go to the hospital whether he wanted to or not, but he didn't think Neal truly needed emergency care. Neal needed the comfort of home, and Peter needed to have him safe.

Before any of them could relax, Peter had to drive them home safely so he closed his eyes and calmed his thoughts until he could stop imagining driving his car right over top of Collier and crushing him beneath the wheels.

"Hon?"

Peter swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." He put the car in drive and programmed the GPS to guide them back to Brooklyn by the quickest route possible. Before he could get into serious traffic, he called Mozzie.

"Suit?" Mozzie answered, more anxiety than normal clear in his voice.

"We've got Neal. He's okay."

The only response at first was a shuddering exhale. "That's good to hear. Thank you...Peter."

"Thank _you_. I don't know how long it would've taken us--—"

"Say no more. But he's okay? Neal?"

"I'll make sure of it. And I'll tell him to give you a call."

"See that you do," Mozzie snapped out before disconnecting the call.

~~~

Peter pulled the car into a lucky spot right in front of the house and went to help Neal out onto the sidewalk. As Peter started to pull Neal out of the back seat, Neal gasped and collapsed back into the seat.

"What's wrong?" Peter bent down to see Neal biting his lip, El behind him with a hand on his shoulder, her eyes wide with concern.

"Just--—" Neal took a shuddering breath. "Stiff. Sorry."

"Jesus, Neal. Don't apologize. We can sit here until you're ready to go inside."

"I'm ready. Just--—help me?" Neal looked up at Peter, his eyes full of pain and exhaustion.

"Like you have to ask." He looked over Neal's shoulder at El. "Hon, can you come around and help me?"

"Of course."

She slipped out of the far side of the car, and Peter wrapped one arm around Neal's back and pulled him up to stand, moving slowly as Neal pushed against the stiffness of his muscles. El ducked under Neal's other arm, and together the three of them walked up the front stairs and through the front door. El nodded to the staircase, and they steered in that direction, heading straight up to the bedroom. Peter eased Neal down into the upholstered chair in the corner, and all he wanted to do was sink down to the floor and rest, but it wasn't time for that yet.

"Hon?" El's hand on Peter's arm was gentle and steady. "Will you go downstairs and get some juice? Something to eat maybe? I'm going to run a bath."

"Good plan." Peter pulled El close for a moment and then headed down to the kitchen. He poured a glass of the fresh-squeezed tangerine juice Neal loved and, as he listened to the water running in the bathroom upstairs, he toasted and buttered several slices of bread, enough for all of them to share.

When Peter went upstairs and let himself into the bathroom, glass of juice in hand, he found Neal and El in the tub together. The steam in the air clung to his skin as he closed the door behind himself and moved to sit on the side rim of the tub. Neal had his eyes closed, his head resting on the ample curves of El's chest, and Peter had never been so glad that El had chosen such an oversized tub when they renovated the bathroom. He could see, in the relaxed lines of Neal's face, that the warm water was easing some of his pain.

The steam was making Neal's hair curl more than usual, and Peter ran his hand through it. "Neal? We need to get some fluids in you."

Neal opened his eyes and nodded, and El helped him sit up a little more. Neal reached out for the glass, and his arms were working better than they had been earlier, but Peter kept a hand on the glass anyway, helping Neal hold it as he sipped at the juice. Neal's relative silence worried him, but El smiled and reached out to take Peter's free hand. Her warm fingers squeezed his, and he understood what she was saying.

_He'll be okay. We'll be okay._

Out of the water, Neal was limp, drooping with exhaustion. Peter dried him off with a thick towel, examining the bruises on his arms, the abrasions that would need to be rebandaged. El dried herself off then towel-dried Neal's hair while Peter dabbed Neosporin on his wrists and covered them with fresh, white gauze. Peter kept waiting for Neal to protest that he didn’t need to be taken care of, but his continued silence said that this time, he did.

Back in the bedroom, Neal was mobile enough to pull on a pair of boxers while El slipped into panties and a t-shirt. It was barely mid-morning, and Peter knew he should make phone calls, check on the case, do his job, but like Neal and El all he could do was move toward the bed, pulled in by their gravitational force. Neal winced as he climbed up on the bed to lean against the pillows, and El snuggled in next to him, her bare legs against his, skin to skin.

"Eat some toast, sweetie." She set the plate of toast on the bed where they could both reach, and Peter sat himself by Neal's feet. He helped himself to a piece, and for a few minutes the room was filled with quiet, all of them chewing until every little triangle of toast was gone from the plate.

"Neal," Peter said, keeping his voice carefully gentle, not an interrogation. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No," Neal answered quietly. "I just need sleep, okay?"

"Okay. That's okay. Do you mind company?"

"God, no." Neal shook his head and moved to stretch out on the bed but froze, hissing in pain with his shoulders hunched.

"Hon? I think we could really use Dr. Magic Hands here." El pulled open the drawer in the bedside table next to her and retrieved a bottle of lotion.

"Dr. Magic Hands?" Despite the pain in his eyes, Neal looked amused, and Peter was relieved to see a hint of his usual spark.

"You remember the case with the organ trafficking? Hearts Wide Open?"

"Dr. Tannenbaum?"

"Right, the chiropractor. Well, El talked me into taking a massage class after that."

"Best investment ever." El smiled and handed Peter the lotion. "Though we’ve kind of gotten out of the habit of taking advantage of it."

"So that's where you went those Tuesday evenings?"

Peter let out a dry laugh. "That's right." He put his hands on Neal's back and felt the knotted muscles. "What do you say?"

Neal moved wordlessly, incrementally, stretching out on his belly with his face turned to the side, his eyes closed. Peter climbed further onto the bed and straddled Neal's legs. Looking at the smooth length of Neal's back, he knew that he should have done this before, shared this with Neal before it was necessary. He should have taken the opportunity before it was almost taken away from him.

The lotion smelled of vanilla and spice, homey and warm, and Peter spread a thick layer of it on his hands before gently pressing his palms against Neal's lower back. He moved his hands all over Neal's back, lightly at first then starting to dig deeper into the knotted muscles around his shoulder blades. He was in the middle of working a particularly tense spot, skin over muscle over delicate bones, when Neal gasped and Peter looked up to see tears leaking from Neal's eyes down onto the sheets.

"Do you want me to stop?"

No," Neal choked out. "Please"

Peter kept working, watching as El curled up next to Neal, petting his hair back from his face and kissing him—his forehead, his cheek, the shallow scrapes on his hands. Peter moved down the bed to work on Neal's hips, and he was beginning to think Neal had fallen asleep underneath him when he spoke into the quiet.

"I thought I was going to die," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "There wasn't enough room for me to move, to get myself loose, to do anything other than sit there in the dark waiting."

"Oh sweetie," El sighed.

Peter didn't know what to say, so he lightened his touch but kept his hands moving on Neal's skin.

"I thought that the next time I saw light it was going to be somebody coming to drop that box in the river. I was never going to be here again, and there was _nothing_ I could do."

"Don't you know by now that Peter will always find you?"

Neal's mouth quirked up into a slight smile, and he groped one hand back toward Peter. Peter took his hand and held on tight. "You should listen to her, she's a very smart woman." He smoothed his hands up to Neal's shoulders and felt that the muscles were warm and softer than they had been. "You think you can sleep now?"

Neal nodded, and Peter climbed off of him, leaning over to kiss El. He pulled up the covers and curled up next to Neal, one arm slung over Neal's waist to touch the curve of El's hip. He meant to stay awake, to watch over his wife and his lover while they slept, but as he listened to Neal's breathing fall in rhythm with El's and felt that same rhythm as Neal's back pushed lightly against his chest with each inhale, his own breathing began to match that gentle, lulling pace as he slipped into sleep.

~~~

Peter woke to the shock of sudden pain, his brain struggling to process the situation. Somebody was jostling him, then the pain came again, and Peter realized that Neal's bony elbow was catching him in the ribs as Neal squirmed between he and El. "Neal?" he asked, not sure if Neal was awake or asleep.

"I need—I need to get out." Neal panted, his breaths rough and uneven as he pushed back against Peter again. "Trapped, I need—"

Finally awake enough to understand what was going on, Peter moved backward and quickly got out of bed. "It's okay, Neal."

Neal quickly rolled onto the empty side of the bed then scrambled out to sit on the edge of the mattress. He rolled his shoulders, pulling against stiffness, and Peter wanted to touch him but didn't know if it would be welcome.

"Hon?" El rolled over and sat up in the middle of the bed. "Neal?"

"Sorry." He stretched some more, twisting himself to one side and then the other. "I just woke up and couldn't move. I didn't want to wake you both up, but I was starting to feel like I couldn't breathe." He put his hand on his chest, rubbing away soreness or reminding himself that he could breathe, Peter didn't know.

"It's okay." Peter sat down next to Neal and splayed a hand flat on the warm, slightly sweaty skin of his back. "You want to get up for a while, have some dinner?"

Neal leaned back into Peter's hand but shook his head. "I don't think I can eat right now."

"Sweetie—"

Peter's cell rang, buzzing against the wood of the dresser where he'd left it, and they all turned to stare at it. "I guess I should answer that, huh?" He walked over and took it in hand, hoping for good news. "Diana?"

"Hey, Boss. Good news. We caught him coming back to the warehouse. Apparently he had trouble finding somebody to dispose of his _package_ for him."

"Imagine that. You bring him in alive?"

"More or less."

Diana's dry laugh made Peter smile, and he looked over at El and Neal where they sat on the bed, El with her bare legs curled up under her, both of her hands massaging one of Neal's. "How much less?"

"Well, he pulled a gun and Jones rushed him, knocked him into the river. It might've taken a little while to get him out of there."

"Diana," Peter groaned. "Tell me he'll make it to trial."

"Oh yeah. Assuming he didn't inhale anything too horrible while he was in the water."

"Great. No, that's great, Di. Thank you, and thank Jones too."

"Our pleasure. And hey, tell Caffrey we're trying to get ERT to process his bag and get at least the contents of it back to him as soon as possible."

Peter knew that Neal would be glad to have his laptop back so that he could get back to work, but he couldn't help thinking about the apples. The fresh greens Neal had bought would be wilted beyond rescue, and if he'd bought something else for Peter, something fragile like blackberries or cherries, they would've been crushed. But Peter loved apples, and Neal always bought him organic ones grown upstate, crisp and tart, not mealy, not too sweet. They were delicious, but sturdy; they'd be just fine.

He tore his gaze away from El and Neal on the bed and tried to focus on Diana. "That would be good. You think you can manage if I come in late tomorrow?"

"I don't know about anybody else, Boss, but I wasn't expecting to see you tomorrow at all."

"Hmph." Not many people knew about how deeply Neal had slipped into Peter and El's life, but Peter wasn't willing to keep it a secret, and Diana and Clinton had known nearly from the start. "We'll see what the situation is tomorrow morning. Keep me up to date?"

"Will do. Is, uh, is Neal doing okay?"

Peter looked back at the bed and knew it was time for him to get off of the phone. "He'll be just fine," he said, looking straight into Neal's eyes. He didn't pay much attention to what he said to Diana after that, but soon enough his phone was back on the dresser, and Peter walked across the room to stand in front of Neal.

The bed was high enough that he only had to bend down slightly to meet Neal's upturned face and kiss him. He cupped the back of Neal's head in his hand, his fingers pushing through the curls at the back of Neal's neck. _He needs a haircut_ , Peter thought before he banished all practical thoughts to lose himself in the taste of Neal's mouth, the slip of Neal's tongue against his, the quick, sharp bite of Neal's teeth on his lip as he pulled away to take a deeper breath.

El crawled up behind Neal and sat on her heels, her arms around his waist, her chin on his shoulder, and when they broke their second kiss, Peter rested his forehead against Neal's for a moment before shifting over to kiss El. The rough, reassuring scrape of stubble against stubble gave way to El's smooth skin, her lush lips and the soft press of her tongue. Blind and deaf, with his hands behind his back, Peter would know them. El moved her lips from Peter's, and he wrapped his arms around both of them.

He didn't plan to let go anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a timestamp [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2166360/chapters/4737498).


End file.
